


Almost Perfect and Beautiful

by relucant



Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, No Idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relucant/pseuds/relucant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“-- came into town today.  Who is he?  What does he want from us?  Why his almost perfect and beautiful haircut?  Why his almost perfect and beautiful flannel?”</p><p>Sam looked slowly down at his requisite plaid, then to the rearview mirror, where his hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders.</p><p>“Um,” he said to the air, then turned the volume up.  The man’s voice was pleasant, mellifluous, but with a faint note of menace in it, and something prickled on the back of his neck.</p><p>“I tell you, listeners,” the man continued, “if I hadn’t already met my Carlos --“</p><p>There was a faint scuffle in the background, and when the voice returned, the hint of menace was gone, replaced by an almost childlike glee.</p><p>“I apologize, listeners.  My <i>boyfriend</i> is here in the station to do some <i>science</i>, and you know how jealous scientists can be.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi I have never written Night Vale before. but I had an idea and I'm trying to not let it die. I hope it doesn't suck.

Sam sighed, punching his thumb futilely at the car’s radio buttons as it cycled through static.

Not that he could blame it, really, he thought as he stared out at the endless expanse of desert wasteland. A few lights twinkled like galaxies in the distance, but he didn’t even know if they were the town he was looking for, and his GPS had gone useless miles back.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, hitting the radio power button. He fumbled under the dash to start the car again.

Suddenly, a few miles down, the radio leapt to life again of its own accord, and Sam jumped, slamming his knee against the steering wheel.

“Fuckin’ useless small cars,” he said, rubbing his knee.

He was leaning forward to turn the radio back off when he froze as the static resolved itself into a man’s voice.

“-- came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his almost perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his almost perfect and beautiful flannel?”

Sam looked slowly down at his requisite plaid, then to the rearview mirror, where his hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders.

“Um,” he said to the air, then turned the volume up. The man’s voice was pleasant, mellifluous, but with a faint note of menace in it, and something prickled on the back of his neck.

“I tell you, listeners,” the man continued, “if I hadn’t already met my Carlos --“

There was a faint scuffle in the background, and when the voice returned, the hint of menace was gone, replaced by an almost childlike glee.

“I apologize, listeners. My _boyfriend_ is here in the station to do some _science_ , and you know how jealous scientists can be.”

“Cecil,” said a higher, muffled voice in the background, “scientists are _not_ …”

Sam stared at the radio, then finally pulled back to the side of the road, putting the car into idle. He swiped open his phone and thumbed Dean’s contact absently.

Instead of the usual ringing sound, the phone just gurgled for a few moments with what sounded like a contented hum. Sam blinked at it. Hesitantly, he tried again.

This time the phone hung up almost instantly, with a decidedly less happy sound. Sam threw it into the passenger seat, dropping his head to his hands.

“Listeners,” the man intoned again, “it appears that our new… _friend_ is trying to make a phone call from the Sand Wastes. Ha! Well, we’ve all been there sometime, right?"

"What the fuck?" Sam said aloud, and his phone harrumphed disapprovingly.

"Here's a tip, from our friendly desert community, to you and your almost-perfect hair. Phones get a little touchy, out there in the Sand Wastes. Probably because it's close to Desert Bluffs -- _ugh_! So come into town, maybe grab a bite at Big Rico's. After all, no one does a slice like Big Rico. _No one_."

Sam rubbed his temples, then took a deep breath.

"Fine," he said to the radio. "You win." He glared at his phone. "You better fu- -- you better work," he informed it, resolutely ignoring the pleased noise it made in response as he re-started the car.

He made it into town about fifteen minutes later, which a reassuringly ordinary sign confirmed was in fact Night Vale, and headed into the first restaurant he found. Aside from its odd mint-green paint job, it looked like any other crappy American diner, complete with bad coffee and a young, efficient waitress named Tricia who eyed Sam appreciatively.

The other patrons stared at him for a few minutes as he looked at the menu, but eventually returned to their own conversations.

"You're the newcomer," Tricia said, as she appeared at his elbow with more coffee. "That Cecil was talking about."

"What? I, uh -- thanks -- yeah, but, how --?"

"What brings you into town?" she asked curiously, pulling out her order pad. "Dot Day isn't 'til next month, and you just missed History Week."

"No, uh -- I'm actually --" Sam took a deep breath, composing himself, and flipped open his FBI badge. "I'm just here to investigate a couple of suspicious deaths."

Tricia's eyes went wide, and she yanked his hand down. "Put that away!" she hissed. "Do you want to get us all sent for reeducation?" He tucked it back in his pocket automatically, and she breathed a sigh of relief, putting on a big, false smile. "Now! What can I get you to eat?"

"A -- a veggie omelette?"

"Excellent choice! And for your side? I'm afraid we're… _out_ of toast."

 _Out of bread_? Sam thought blankly, but he forced a smile. "Do you have fruit salad?"

"Of course! I'll bring it right out."

Sam stared after her, and with some trepidation, he pulled out his phone, trying Dean again.

"Sam? Where the hell are you, I've been calling for an hour!"

"I'm in Night Vale, you ass," Sam hissed, glancing around. "What the hell kind of Twilight Zone is this supposed to be? I thought we were just looking for a, I dunno, typical Tuesday of death and monsters, but this -- this is _weird_ …"

"Weird? _Weird_? Weird how?"

"Like the radio is talking to me weird, dude."

"The radio? You high, Sammy?"

"I don't think so?" Sam choked out a laugh. "Look, dude. This is -- I have no idea. Can you get here tonight?"

There was a shuffling on the other end, then Dean came back on. "Uh, yeah. We're just outside of Phoenix, so we can --"

"Wait, _we_?" Sam interrupted. "I thought Cas was looking into that case up in Nebraska."

"Um," Dean said. "Turned out to just be, y'know, garden-variety killer, cops got him. So Cas just, y'know, came to help, and --"

"Yeah, okay," Sam sighed. "Do we need two rooms yet?"

"Fuck off," Dean suggested, and Sam snorted.

"Fine. I'm gonna see if I can find the weird radio guy, I'll text you later."

"Be careful, Sammy."

"Yeah, yeah. Give Cas a kiss for me."

"Fuck off," Dean reiterated before hanging up.

Sam shook his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

Tricia showed a moment later, depositing his omelette and fruit on the table.

"Anything else I can get for you?" she asked, with a slightly too-wide smile.

"Uh. No, thanks," he said, trying to mirror her grin. He stared at his plate nervously, but after a few hesitant bites he dug in, eyes falling closed at the familiar, delicious mediocrity.

He'd just wiped the last melon juice from his mouth when Tricia reappeared at his elbow, tilting her head at the coffee pot. "May I --?"

"I -- no, thank you," Sam said. "Just the check, please."

She blinked at him confusedly. "What?"

"Uh, the check, thanks."

She stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide and notepad clutched to her chest, before she broke into a tentative smile.

"Of course -- I forget, you're not from around here, I just --" She took a deep breath, grabbing his water glass. Instead of picking up the rest of his dishes, she just hissed something incomprehensible into it, and then plucked the check from the sugar containers cheerfully.

"Uh. Thanks?" Sam called to her retreating back. He counted out a few bills and made his way back to the stolen car.

"Well, shit," he said aloud as he slid into the driver's seat. Across from the diner, there were strange lights in the sky over the Arby's, and he began to wonder if they'd gotten in over their heads.

Finally, after a certain amount of haggling with Teddy Williams, he shut the door to a motel room, cracking open a beer and turning on the television.

"Sam?" Dean called from the hallway, awhile later. "Sam!"

"In here, Dean," Sam said tiredly. He got up and opened the door, and Dean stumbled inside, followed closely by Cas.

"Uh," Dean said. "Pretty sure dude on the radio was referred to my eyes as -- uh -- _fan-fiction green_. And somethin' about Cas havin' _sex-hair_..."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, rubbing his nose.

"And something about a woman named Josie," Cas added, snagging a beer. "She said there were angels here, out by a car lot, but they didn't sound like any of my brethren…"

"What in the actual fuck," Sam said, eyes raised to a painting of an orange in the desert.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, rubbing his eyes. "My thoughts exactly."

Cas stared out the window, swallowing once, and said nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean, Sam and Cas decided to hit up the radio station first thing. Cas wanted to visit Old Woman Josie, and her friends who were definitely not his brothers, and Sam thought they should talk to Carlos, who might be able to tell them just what was going on; Dean mostly just wanted a slice of pizza. But the radio station, with its enthusiastic, unsettling host, seemed somehow to be the epicenter of the town, so they went there first.

For once, they weren't monkeyed-up in their fed suits. Dean hadn't really understood Sam's insistence against their usual FBI personas, but he'd finally acquiesced with a sigh.

"So what the hell should we expect?" Dean demanded again as they got out of the car. "Not exactly givin' me specifics here, Sammy."

"I don't _know_ ," Sam reiterated, exasperated. "I've been here all of half a day more than you. It's just -- just weird."

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam ignored him, pushing open the door to the station.

The lobby was ostensibly normal, with a few ugly chairs and lurid prints of desert landscapes on the walls. A bell lay on the empty receptionist's desk, and Sam hesitantly dinged it.

Within a few moments a tall kid with wide dark eyes appeared in the doorway.

"So sorry!" he said excitedly. "Wow! Visitors! To the station!" He visibly caught himself, settling back into a more professional demeanor. "Uh -- I'm Intern Juan, and welcome to the Night Vale Radio Station. How may I help you?"

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam elbowed him. "Hi, Juan. Um, my name's Sam, and this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Cas." They nodded at Juan, and he grinned back, teeth slightly too white. "We're new to town, and we wondered if -- if Cecil might have a few minutes to talk to us. I understand if he's busy, but --"

"Oh, yes!" Juan interrupted, eyes glowing. "Cecil _loves_ talking to out-of-town folks. Let me see if he's free." He dashed off, and Dean rounded on him.

"Why the _hell_ did you give him our names?" he hissed. "That's, like, fuckin' hunter rule number one, dude."

Sam rubbed his temples. "He knew who I was, where I was and what I was wearing before I even got into town. Didn't think lying was gonna get us very far right now."

Dean was about to object when Juan reappeared. "Cecil is just finishing up his notes for this evening's broadcast," he said, admiration in his eyes. "Please follow me."

He led them down a bland white hallway lined with unmarked doors, but Dean stopped abruptly outside the door engraved STATION MANAGEMENT.

"What the --?" Dean stumbled back, staring at the shadows flickering behind the grey glass, and something howled.

"Do you -- do you want to talk with management too?" Juan asked hesitantly. "I could shout for you, but they seem to prefer the memos…"

"Uh." Dean took a deep breath. "No, sorry. Let's go."

Juan continued on, finally stopping outside a door labeled CECIL PALMER. He tapped on it, and the door swung open, revealing a tall man with grey eyes, and skin that seemed to shift tones with the light.

"You're the newcomer!" Cecil said delightedly, reaching out. "I'm Cecil, the Voice of Night Vale."

"I -- yeah," Sam said, taking his hand. "This is my brother, Dean."

"Oh, yes! The stranger with the _fan-fi_ \--"

"And this is Cas," Dean interrupted, gritting his teeth.

Cecil tilted his head, peering at him. "You're an angel," he finally proclaimed in a whisper. Cas flinched, and Dean put a hand on his back, ignoring Sam's pointed look. "I don't think you're one of Josie's -- after all, you _exist_ \-- but I'm sure she'd be delighted to have you for tea. Erika would love to meet you."

Cas blinked in surprise, but Cecil had already turned back to Sam. "I'm happy to talk to you, but it's Khoshekh's dinner time. It's not the classiest place for an interview, but my little guy needs his food!"

Exchanging confused looks, they followed Cecil down the hall and into the men's bathroom, where a small grey cat hovered at a fixed point in the air.

Sam and Dean both shrank back, but Cas stepped forward immediately, rubbing the cat's chin with his fingertip.

"Isn't he _adorable_?" Cecil gushed. "I know he's a bit odd, stuck in the station bathroom, but --"

"He's perfect," Cas interjected, speaking for the first time. He touched the cat's forehead, and a small smile spread over his face. "And he's happy. He loves you."

Cecil's skin turned bright gold, and he rubbed at his eyelids.

"I love you, too," he said softly, scritching an ear. Khoshekh closed his eyes, purring loudly and butting his head against Cecil's hand. "Thank you."

Sam pointedly ignored the soft smile Dean was giving Cas, clearing his throat.

"Look, Cecil," Sam began. "Um. You -- I think you wondered why we're here. Can we be honest with you?"

"Of course," Cecil said, still nuzzling Khoshekh.

"We, uh," Sam said, looking helplessly at Dean and Cas. Cas was watching Khoshekh, and Dean was watching Cas, so Sam sighed, clearing his throat.

"We're hunters," he said flatly. "We hunt the things that go bump in the night."

Cecil's eyes widened. "You must be mistaken," he said seriously, and Sam braced himself to deliver the _monsters are real_ speech. But before he could speak, Cecil continued. "I know that the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home can be annoying at times, but she never means any harm." He paused, skin paling. "Unless you mean the librarians. But surely you're not intending to enter the library -- at least not without the advice of Tamika."

"I -- you know what, I don't want to know. I'm talking like… werewolves. Vampires. Lots of ghosts."

Cecil made a face. "Werewolves and vampires? Sounds more like a Desert Bluffs kind of thing. But ghosts! Do you think they could be my interns?"

"Are," Sam began. "Are they dead?"

"Well, yeah," Cecil said. "I mean, not _all_ of them. And some, well…" His shoulders slumped, and more color drained from his skin. "Some were my fault," he admitted. "I should have been a better mentor. But they are missed."

"Uh, Juan seems happy here?" Sam interjected hesitantly, and Cecil brightened.

"Oh, yes! He's a _wonderful_ intern. Even offered to interview City Council. But I want him alive as long as possible, so I just assigned him to Carlos' science lab." A soft, fond look spread over Cecil's face. "After all, I know my Carlos will keep _anyone_ safe."

"O-kay," Dean spoke up. "Uh, so what about these angels?"

Cecil dropped a kiss to Khoshekh's ear, then leaned back against the wall. "Old Woman Josie," he explained. "She's out by the car lot." He rubbed his chin, considering Castiel.

"You're not Erika," he finally said. "And you exist. But she might help you. She's very helpful." He smiled down at Khoshekh, whose eyes were shut tight in contentment.

"I think, uh, these _angels_ , they might be different from Cas," Sam spoke up uncertainly.

"Probably," Cecil agreed. "But I like him. Khoshekh does, too." Cas drew a finger over Khoshekh's spine-ridges, scritching affectionately, and Cecil's face lit up.

"Go see Josie," he finally pronounced. "She'll like you."

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [tumblr](http://relucant.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](twitter.com/relucanting).
> 
> I'm nice.


End file.
